


Not Your Average State Dinner

by nerdybloomers



Series: 120 Drabble Challenge [3]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, dubcon?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-11 21:56:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7909039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdybloomers/pseuds/nerdybloomers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Usually Treize allowed her to skip these diplomatic state dinners. This time, he hadn’t so much as asked her, as implicitly told her that she was going, and who was she to refuse His Excellency?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Your Average State Dinner

**Author's Note:**

> So, about this one: I don't think Une gets drunk, per se, but that would be her likely excuse. For that, this fic is tagged dubcon? because that affects some people and that's ok. There's some champagne consumption. I really wanted to play around with pinpointing a moment where you see Une's personality shift before going really hard into it in another prompt, and it accidentally turned from a drabble into a oneshot.
> 
> Prompt #80: Waltz
> 
> Drabble challenge at my old dA: http://shibaayame.deviantart.com/art/120-Drabble-Challenge-250678524

Usually Treize allowed her to skip these diplomatic state dinners. Une would only have to begin to make an excuse, stop herself, apologize, stop herself again (because he hated to hear her apologize for anything). And then he would smirk, give her leave for the night, and allow her to retreat to her quarters, or see to it that security was overseen. This time, he hadn’t so much as asked her, as implicitly told her that she was going, and who was she to refuse His Excellency?

One of the Khushrenada estate maids gently knocked on her door and asked for admittance, and when Une had opened the door, she frowned. The maid was struggling not to trip over a bulging garment bag, which did not seem like a good omen. Without a word, she stepped aside and allowed the maid to enter the room and lay it out on her bed, leave the room, and return with a stack of two white boxes. She bowed - Une knew that the staff of the estate thought of her as frigid and cruel, with good reason - and scurried out of the room.

With the door shut, her frown deepened. There was no note to be found with the bag or outside of either box, so she sat on the edge of her ivory and gold duvet and reached for the smaller of the boxes.

...Jewelry?

A simple silver chain necklace and drop earrings, each decorated with a diamond solitaire.

Shit.

With a scowl, she opened the second box. A pair of heels to match, plain silver pumps, with a heel that wasn’t too high.

Shit.

Her eyes fell on the garment bag, stuffed to the gills, and Une grimaced. She had no way of getting out of this one. Steeling herself, she sighed and carefully unzipped the garment bag, showing her at first a glimpse of a beautiful blue-black plush velvet, and then overflowing with froth.

Shit.

Wrangling the poofy, noisy dress from the confines of its packaging, she hung it on a hook on the back of her door, in front of her burgundy uniform blazer. Her usual twill was almost completely covered by this mess of taffeta spilling out in a cupcake of fabric, almost black and shining blue when the light caught it just so. At least the bodice was simpler, with shoulder straps and zipping up the back - thank heavens it didn’t button or lace - in the soft velvet she’d first seen.

It could’ve been worse.

It could’ve been pink.

Resigning herself to her fate, she put on the jewelry (when was the last time she even wore a necklace?), then slipped on the shoes (surprisingly comfortable, for now at least) and wrestled her way into the gown, finding an opening and tossing it over her head. She reached around her back, and with a little effort, the zipper was up. Not even a second later, there was another knock on the door.

Swinging it open - almost catching her skirt in the process - another maid stood with her hand up as if she were about to knock again. The young girl sheepishly lowered her hand, and Une took a step back to allow her to gain access into her room. She may as well have a revolving door installed at this point, she thought. Wordlessly, she took this maid’s invitation to sit at her makeup table, and in no time at all, her hair was up and curled and the slip of a girl was gone. She’d started out so sheepish and turned out to be such a quick stylist? Where does Mister Treize even find these people?

In another couple of minutes, Une heard a third knock at the door. Yes. that revolving door seemed to be a more efficient idea, considering that she wouldn’t have to get up and answer so much. With fury in her step, she rose and strode over to the door, turning the knob and opening her mouth to shout down the next servant-

“My lady, you look wonderful.”

Une froze, mouth still slightly agape. Treize smiled, bowing his head to her and extending his arm. “Shall we?”

Screwing her mouth shut, she nodded curtly and hooked her arm in his. She couldn’t even remember if she’d closed her bedroom door before he led her to the estate ballroom and right into the thick of political battle.

She’d felt her mind shift from utter contempt to surveying the battlefield. Dignitaries from eastern Europe, chatting with Romefeller Foundation supporters about-

“I know what you’re doing, but tonight you should consider taking a break,” Treize chided her, glancing sidelong, the corners of his mouth twitching up into a grin. “I’m not asking you to reduce yourself to simple arm candy, but take a step back from the war mentality, if just for an evening. May I?”

Une flinched, and suddenly her glasses were gone from her face and tucked inside Treize’s frock coat. She blinked, and felt a shift. Suddenly the lighting of the ballroom felt less glaring and more sparkling, the string quartet chugging through Vivaldi less grating and more pleasant. Almost as if on cue, Treize gently pressed his lips to the back of Une’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to have you here, milady.”

The rest of the evening passed by at a leisurely pace, and Une felt relieved. There were no attempts made on anyone’s life, and the biggest travesty seemed to be that desserts were served ten minutes late. She nursed a flute of champagne with one hand and absentmindedly fingered the fabric of Treize’s sleeve with the other while discussing Central American ancient art with a colony manager and her wife on sabbatical from their duties in space. No sooner than finishing her glass had His Excellency deftly plucked it from her grasp, placed it on a waiter’s passing tray, and excused the both of them to the dance floor.

Une huffed halfheartedly. “Sir, I believe it is customary to ask a lady if she would care to dance.”

Treize smiled. Why was he smiling so much tonight? “Ah yes, but would you have refused?” He extricated his arm and tucked it in front of himself to bow to her, and she returned with a curtsy, shaking her head. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn a dress that was appropriate for a curtsy. The taffeta felt smooth under her fingers, but not as smooth as the hand that Treize offered her. She felt herself drawn into a closed position as the quartet began a waltz.

All of a sudden, Une felt hot. Had she indulged in too much champagne? Were the lights too intense? No, it was a heat curiously from the torso up - Treize’s searing hot hand on the small of her back, burning holes through her velvet bodice as he pulled her tighter to his chest. Her cheeks inflamed with an overwhelming blush. His eyes threatening to raze through her, and she couldn’t bring herself to look away. The heat was all-encompassing, but not all that unpleasant.

“Lady Une, you are a vision in blue,” he observed, refusing to break eye contact. Her head was spinning - no, she was spinning, he was whirling her around and her skirt was fanning out around her. “I admit, choosing a dress for you was likely rude, but I hope you believe me when I say it does you justice.”

She didn’t have a reply. She barely noticed it when he let go of her right hand to graze his thumb across her cheek. She managed to close her eyes, though in anticipation of what, she didn’t want to admit to herself.

Instead, the lips that graced her hand earlier found their way to hover in the space next to her ear. His breath was like sizzling steam. “I would rather continue this train of thought… elsewhere.”

And then again she felt herself tugged from the dance floor, through a back hallway and into Treize’s study. Her heart was racing. Treize didn’t make rash decisions like running away from a social event with a woman, much less his known subordinate. Treize didn’t compliment her on anything other than espionage well done. And he certainly didn’t wrap his hand around the back of her neck, pull her in and kiss her before the door was even shut.

At that point, it was a blur. She remembered bits and pieces - losing her shoes and his cape under his mahogany desk, important papers wrinkled carelessly; she remembered being lifted and carried through the doorway straight into his bedroom, and that he had actually kicked the door shut this time. She remembered her gown falling on the floor in a pile of fluff, the soft caress of Egyptian cotton and silk brocade and heat, dear god the heat of his hands as Treize pressed into her, and she felt the world, the war, fall away.

The next thing Une knew was the sun filtering through the curtains, and a lock of hair tickling her face. She shot up in bed, alone, wearing less than she usually did for bed. Bed. Not her own bed.

His Excellency’s bed.

Shit.

On the nightstand lay her glasses, a robe for her, a single rose in a bud vase, and a note asking her to join him for breakfast.

Une shook her head. She wrenched the remaining hairpins from her curls, smoothed them down, and set about her usual braids. Last night couldn’t have meant anything. She must have been drunk. She probably came onto him - stupid, shameless - and now he was trying to make her feel better about it. It didn’t mean anything.

She kept telling herself that as she slipped back to her room, ignoring his invitation.


End file.
